Wednesday, October 23, 2013

A Small Poem (draft 1)

Fruit fly on a thin piece of toast,
hard-to-read font (Times, I think),
a puppy's eyelash,
the one-inch Buddha on my desk--
we're operating on small today.

The freckle on my knuckle,
the speck of blanket lint on my pants,
the far-off tune of a bird
and politics. 
It's all small.

It's all in the eye of the beholden:
the crumb, the text, the hair, the silver statue,
the pigment, the bedding,
the sparrow, Congress.
It's all small.

The willing squint to see,
reach to touch,
strain to hear--
or not to hear.
Maybe they just close their eyes
and keep their hands to themselves.

Not me.
I move in closer.

Copyright Oct. 24, 20
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